


Not Bad for a First Try

by crfaddis



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Experienced Woman/Inexperienced Man, F/M, First Time, Fuck Or Die, One Night Stands, Pon Farr, Reluctant Sex, Woman on Top, Zinedom Archive Project, fanzine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1976-07-01
Updated: 1976-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-28 15:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14451801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crfaddis/pseuds/crfaddis
Summary: Pon farrdoesn't follow the standard schedule for hybrids





	Not Bad for a First Try

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published in July 1976 in the fanzine R&R 1. It has been posted here at the request of the original creators. You can read more about the history of the fanzine on [Fanlore](https://fanlore.org/wiki/R_%26_R_\(Star_Trek:_TOS_zine\)).

"Yes, what do you want?"

He looked subtly disturbed, nothing you could pick out specifically. His uniform was impeccable, his face immobile, his hands at his sides, but it was late, and his eyes were squints of—what? I couldn't guess.

"May I talk to you?" he said colorlessly.

"Won't it wait until morning?" I snapped. Didn't like Vulcans. Appreciated 'em, but didn't get off on 'em, and definitely was not up for any 2 a.m. technical chats; I'd put in a hard day.

"Yes, of course," he said stiffly, and turned to go.

"Wait. Spock, what was it youwanted to discuss?" Why did that person upset me like that? He'd responded as I'd wished.…

He stopped, but did not turn around. The long concrete hall echoed with renewed silence.

"I need to speak with you," he mumbled, and I wondered if the hollowness was his voice or the empty corridor.

"All right, come in."

My "room" was a concrete bunker with a chair, table, viewscreen/computer console, and hammock. I pulled my extra clothes off the chair and threw them in the hammock, then sat on the table beside the viewscreen. The light overhead glared, but had no adjustments.

Spock took the chair at my gesture. 

"Well?"

His aspect was of a person in pain, though that perception could not have come from his appearance. It was in his voice, or his eyes. I'm a doctor; I know pain when I see it, even in a Vulcan.

"We have been here for nine standard weeks,'' he said finally. "How much longer must we remain here yet?"

"Until the experiments and tests are completed, and we're all properly decontaminated. You know that."

"How long, Doctor?" he insisted softly.

"Oh for Christ's sakes—" I said, and cut off, reaching for the viewscreen and switching it on.

"Computer, calculate time of departure for research team."

"ETD is forty-four days, six hours standard," the machine droned. 

I snapped it off and looked back at Spock.

"Forty-four days, six hours standard," I repeated. "So?"

"What do you know of Vulcans?" he said, barely audible. He stared at the closed door.

"Which myth would you like to hear?" What was he up to?

"The cycle. The Vulcan cycle," he breathed.

I looked at him in genuine bewilderment for a full half minute, then my whole body prickled with chill, and knew what he meant. I _knew_. Gods, this was insane! Not me. No, wasn't interested. I didn't want him, or anything to do with him. Not him. I walked to the door and opened it.

"Please go," I said, quivering inside. They go mad. I knew. They were strong with buried violence, and the hormones drove them mad.

He still stared at the door, at my hand on the old-style knob, and I waited, tense. No move.

"Get out of here! I'm not interested in your problems."

He may have made to go, and he certainly made an effort to rise, but his knees seemed to quiver for a moment and then gave out, and he went down. Too terrified to move, I watched dumbly as he pushed back up into the chair, trembling like he were in a delirium. His face glistened with sweat I'd not noticed before.

"Doctor Goldman, I cannot," he said, and the simple words carried a torrent of unexpected anguish. Amazed, I realized that he was embarrassed. A Vulcan, embarrassed! That broke the terror—he wasn't about to rape me. Not yet, anyhow. I closed the door age in and stood with my back to it, my hand still on the knob.

"Spock, I don't want you," I told him. "I will help you any other way I can."

For the first time, he looked at me directly.

"I know," he said, and he had himself in control again. "But you are the only female on this planet."

"What kind of logic is that!?" I demanded. "Why don't you radio for your bondmate—Vulcan's less than a week's travel from here; she'd come."

"I have no bondmate," he said tightly, "and in a week, I shall be dead." 

Good god.

"How long have you been in the—the _pon farr_? Vulcans pride themselves on their logical approach to problem-solving—surely you could have called home for a… companion… when the symptoms first appeared?"

He shook his head slightly.

"I am a hybrid: Vulcan and human. The need came upon me swiftly and without warning. Too swiftly, this time." He took a deep breath and added, "I am trying to be logical. You are the only female available to me, Doctor."

My mind agonized over half-remembered medical texts, skimmed and committed to memory as best one can along with thousands of other items. So many races, now—it was the task of years to adequately comprehend the mechanics of just the human body. My memory turned up nothing useful.

"Can't you do what other humanoid males do for sexual frustration?" I suggested.

He looked at me blankly.

"Won't masturbation bring relief?" I clarified. No use being subtle.

"Negative," he said miserably.

"How do you know? There may be cultural inhibitions, but it's actually quite a normal, rather universal—"

"Doctor, I know," he cut in. "I _have_ tried."

There was more to it than that. I shut up and waited for the rest. 

"The mechanism for… for Vulcan ejaculation is triggered only by the vaginal spasms of the partner," he said, sounding like he were reading it out of a textbook. "Nothing else works, and usually tends to aggravate the condition."

I felt trapped. I have nothing against screwing, particularly, and my last month's contraceptive shot would still be working. I had no real commitments to anyone. But I did like to wine and dine first, did like a touch of romance, and I absolutely required that there be some emotion involved—some enjoyment if nothing else. Spock's only emotion was desperation.

"There are no drugs I could give you to—?"

"Negative," he groaned, and clasped his hands, which had begun to tremble. I realized that just my presence, in his state, was exciting him.

Shit. This was ridiculous, and if I hadn't been a physician, I might have laughed, but I knew it was no laughing matter. It was costing Spock agonies to come to me, but he wanted to survive. He deserved to survive. And, though I might have made light of it if confronted, I took my career—and my oath—seriously.

"I don't particularly like Vulcans," I told him. "I mean, I'm not strongly prejudiced, it's just a matter of personal taste. I like emotional people."

"I understand."

"If I agreed, you might not like what you'd find in mymind," I said, thinking of the sexual mindlink unique to Vulcans.

"I would endeavor not to subject you to a mindmeld. I understand your objection to a relationship, and do not desire to press one upon youagainst your wishes."

But I knew that Vulcans considered sex without bonding as perverted behavior. It was perverted from my standpoint too, to go against the cultural norms, but Spock was willing to commit a perversion to save his life. It was eminently logical.

I locked the door.

"Take off your clothes," I told him. Good thing I wasn't having my period. Hate having sex then. I resigned myself to a joyless fuck.

He finished folding his clothes, and stood nude before me under the glaring light, with the most impressive hard-on I'd ever seen. It surprised me, since I knew from the medical textsthat the Vulcanoid races have relatively small genitalia. Spock's human inheritance must have been doubly blessed. I shut off the overhead light and felt my way to the viewscreen, flicking it on without programming it, to produce a soft glow. Spock had not moved.

"Would you spread the quilt on the floor, please?" I directed, undoing my robe. "Can't do it very well in a hammock unless you're an acrobat. Which I'm not."

He spread the cloth and stood, waiting, tangibly miserable and visibly aroused, and I began to feel sorry for him. It might be a proud thing to be a Vulcan, but it is also cruel. What sentient being deserves to be slave to the propagation of his race? But it was a reality that had to be coped with. I strongly suspected that Spock had unconsciously avoided coping with it, too, or he would surely have tracked down an eligible Vulcan female by now and married her. A married Vulcan need not fear the _pon farr_ —he screwed regularly, so it never snuck up on him. Only the unmated ones faced the madness.

I stopped undressing at my nightgown. It was chilly in these underground cells, or I wouldn't have had it on at all, and now I wasn't sure whether I wanted to do any more than pull it up over my hips. This was becoming rather outrageous—here I was, no amateur, and suddenly I was as embarrassed as Spock. It was silly, the two of us standing there, ready to make it together, and neither of us willing to make the first move. And then it occurred to me: maybe Spock didn't know _how_ to make the first move.

"Spock, are you a virgin?" I asked as casually as I knew how. I sat back against the table again.

"Affirmative, If I understand your term correctly," he said, almost choking on his words.

Oh brother. Amateur night.

"Would you find my asking offensive?" he said timidly.

"I gave up on virginity years ago," I admitted. "It's definitely a negative state. Ah, would you like a drink? Dr. McCoy gave me a bottle of Gin Whiz for cold, lonely nights."

He shook his head. The tension was wound up, he was shivering intermittently. He needed a woman, not liquor or talk. I started to release my nightgown, might as well get on with it, but then he moved quickly beside me and was unsealing the front. I glanced at him, startled.

"I wish to please you," he said helplessly, and there was a terrible, shy tenderness in his face that was suddenly very endearing. He wasn't a bad-looking man, really. He opened the gown and let it drop, and put my arms around his waist and pulled him gently against me. He smelled good—his sweat was pleasant, not like the human odor. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, and I guided them to embrace my back, then my backside. His touch was hesitant, but sensual, appreciative. I was nearly as tall as he, so I turned my face and kissed his ear and blew into it softly. He had a very beautiful ear. He stiffened and pulled away slightly.

"May I kiss you?" he breathed.

He kissed very well. Someone had taught him that, at least. I touched his lips with my tongue, and he parted them to let me dart around in his mouth, then returned the little licks with increasing enthusiasm. I was starting to enjoy myself. I was starting to want him. Maybe this wouldn't turn out to be a mercy-fuck after all. I ran my hand down his very nice belly, then toyed with his testicles. He arched at that touch and shuddered pleasantly. I'd never been with a man so arousing, or so thoroughly arousable. I stopped worrying about his innocence, and my dignity, and started concentrating on teaching him how to enjoy himself—and me.

We fondled lightly for several more minutes, then lay down on the quilt. Stretched out, still shuddering occasionally, he was completelyappealing. I stroked his penis softly and then slid down enough to touch the glans with my mouth. He spasmed with excitement. I showed him several delightful variations on oral-genital stimulation, then lay back to let him explore/discover me. He seemed hesitant, still¬, to touch my genitals, so again, I guided his hand, leading it to between my legs.

"Is this pleasurable?" he asked hoarsely, running his hand along the inside of my thigh.

"Let me show you what I like best," I said, and guided his fingersin a circular motion over my clitoris. He massaged me obediently with one hand, and fondled my nipples with the other. He was learning very fast!

When I knew I'd reached a plateau of pleasure, I stopped him.

"Is it time to copulate?" he said.

I laughed, freely now. His innocence was delightful. "Yes, I'm certainly ready. Do you know how at all? Any position you want to try first?"

He shook his head, and the pain that had been in his eyes was gone, displaced with something better. "You must teach me. I wish to give you pleasure, If I can."

I grinned into his face. "Lie down again."

He did, and I straddled him carefully, easing myself slowly onto his organ. The pleasure was excruciating for both of us, and then I realized, casually and without fear, that we were mindlinking: I could feel his pleasure as he could feel mine. He knew exactly what I wanted. He reached down as I straddled him and massaged my clitoris, gently but swiftly, with a deftness that left me breathless. I clamped down on anal muscles and squeezed his penis with my vaginal walls again and again. We were soaring then, and we stopped working at it, and we ground into each other in a rhythm that throbbed, screamed, and went wild.

I fell off the edge of the world, filled with searing, delicious lava that spilled into my brain and burned it out! Pure _delight_!

"You're some lay, you fucking Vulcan," I gasped into his ear.

It was hardly five minutes, and he was ready for another roll. We must have fucked six or seven more times before the fever left for good. My twat will never be the same. Finally, we slept.

The next morning, he put on his uniform, thanked me formally, and climbed back into his shell. The bastard.

I know I was the logical alternative. I don't know what he'd have done if it'd happened on the ship—probably, he'd have taken a leave and high-tailed it to Vulcan, or maybe he'd have chosen Christine Chapel, who, it's said, loves him. He ought to try love. He'd never believe it, but it's even better with love. Not bad for a first try, though. Not bad at all.


End file.
